We're Not Broken, Just Bent
by unoriginalrhombus
Summary: "Santana's sloppy and dressed down and there's a mustard stain on the lower corner of her Star Wars t-shirt—which, btw, who wears a t-shirt to dinner?" A completely AU story in which Quinn suffers from OCD and Santana is a hoarder, and yet, they fall in love.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**__ This is pretty much done. I'll be posting the other parts over the next week. I'm trying to get through some fanfic prompts and just trying to work through this writer's block that has plagued me lately. Anyway, I really enjoyed writing this because it felt vague but certain. This story was inspired by my friends. I really hope you all enjoy it, please read and review. (Also, this is for Mell, who always leaves me lovely comments that I never seem to respond to. I am grateful and you are lovely. Enjoy!)_

* * *

**We're Not Broken, Just Bent**

**(Part One of Three)**

Quinn Fabray hated messes.

It wasn't just messes exactly. She hated clutter, she hated dirt, and she despised anything that could be classified as _messy_. That included people, objects, and attitudes. She had the belief that everything belonged in its _specific_ place and that was the only way life could truly _work_.

She had been this way for as long as she could remember. She used to sit at the kitchen table and count to twenty-three three times before concluding that it was safe to eat, because honestly, if she didn't count then Quinn was fairly certain that her life would end.

Well, that probably wasn't true per se, but at the time it had certainly felt like that.

Quinn doesn't really know why or when it started and she isn't really all that curious to figure out the _how_ of it all. She's okay with having order in life and she's satisfied with knowing that everything has its own specific place.

She's twenty three now and still fairly set in her ways. Sure, it makes life hard sometimes. She can't have a roommate because they don't understand her inherent _need_ to check the lock three times before breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Roommates don't rinse her grapes and then clean them with tissues, nor do they understand how important it is to do so. Roommates were all good and fun as long as they were a thought, but they were of no real use to Quinn when they were a reality.

She had tried, really, years ago and it had just ended in disaster. Quinn didn't want to put herself through all of that again. Sure, she found Blaine, Kurt, and Rachel through all of it, but it was still a period in Quinn's life that she considered traumatic.

Roommates equaled disaster, so Quinn would just have to stay away, because she doesn't think her mind would survive having to organize a disaster.

It's even harder to make friends.

In the beginning, everyone would act incredibly understanding. It is how people are at their core, really, their understanding and they sympathize because they feel like it's necessary. And when that façade falls (just like it always does) everyone switches towards trying to "help" her-which is really just code for trying to change Quinn.

To the world Quinn had a problem and to Quinn? Well, to Quinn there was no other way to live. She knew of nothing else.

The world called her quirks a disorder and Quinn honestly couldn't understand. When did needing order and organization and preparedness become a _disorder_?

* * *

Santana Lopez was what people would characterize as a hoarder.

Of course she disagreed. Santana liked to think that she just loved things too much to let them go. It wasn't that she couldn't get rid of things; it was just that she wanted to hold onto the memories that came with each item she possessed. Yeah, her home was a bit messy, but that didn't qualify her as an actual hoarder.

She wasn't surrounded by things completely, she still had tons of space and she was at least three steps away from getting a cat, so that was obviously good. She didn't have newspapers or food lying around everywhere unnecessarily. God, no, she wasn't an _animal_. She just liked keeping things.

There wasn't anything wrong with that, right?

She wasn't bad enough to be put on one of those shows because if she was, she would make sure to commit suicide before Rachel could ever corner Santana and put her through some gay ass intervention.

There were a lot of things Rachel had put Santana through during the years and Santana would willingly kiss her beautiful ass goodbye if she let an intervention be another one of those things.

Occasionally (once every six months) Santana would remove about a third of her clutter. It hurt her physically because the things felt like they were parts of her—and in a sense, they were. They were around when Santana had created memories and as a result, she didn't want to let them go. However, it was something she had to do if she wanted to keep everyone off her backs.

Plus, she didn't think she could handle owning a cat. She wasn't that loco. Owning a cat would be resigning herself to the stereotype that people already bunched her into. She couldn't let herself be shoved into a corner without a second thought.

Nobody put Santana Lopez in a damn corner. Well, unless there was nowhere else for her to stand or something.

Everyone called Santana's love for possessions an illness and Santana honestly couldn't understand. When did loving something become an _illness_?

* * *

Quinn was busy cleaning one Friday night.

Which, overall, is _ridiculous, _but only because Quinn was _always_ busy cleaning.

She's wiping down her kitchen table for the third (and final) time when she hears her landline ring. She can't stand cell phones because of the germs they bring. She doesn't even want to use a landline but in these times a phone was a necessity not a convenience. Quinn skips over towards where her phone is situated and picks it up. She hesitates for a moment before rubbing the phone with the towel that was in her hand. When she's satisfied that her phone has been cleaned of all necessary germs, she puts the phone up to her mouth.

"Hello?"

"Quinn! It's Rachel," a cheery voice seeps through the receiver.

Quinn smiles at the sound of Rachel's voice. Quinn has certainly had her setbacks over the years in regards to people, but if there was ever a person who was worth going through all of that crap for, it was Rachel.

They had met over four years ago when Quinn had been twenty and searching for a roommate. Her search had led her to one Tina Cohen-Chang and after four months of horrible living, Rachel Berry. Tina had been a sweet—and messy—girl. Unfortunately for Tina, Quinn wasn't capable of leniency and it wasn't very long before Quinn's anal cleaning methods got underneath Tina's skin.

Quinn had met Rachel on the day that Tina had moved out. Always the good friend, Rachel had showed up with a moving truck and two of her male co-workers, completely intent on getting Tina out as quickly as she could. Unfortunately for Tina, the moment Rachel and Quinn had made eye contact everything had changed. Rachel had stayed frozen to the spot in the corner of their apartment and Quinn is almost certain that she had heard angels singing that day.

They dated for a year and a half before deciding to go back to being friends. It was clear that Quinn's OCD habits were wearing on Rachel and while they loved one another, Quinn had no desire to change. It's completely possible to love someone with your whole heart and not want to change.

So she didn't. Rachel moved out and moved on and they've been best friends ever since.

Over the course of their relationship Quinn had grown to love Blaine and Kurt. They were amazing and supportive and the kind of friends that everyone dreamed of having. It's because of this (and because Quinn was full of issues that she couldn't even put into words) that she had told Rachel that she didn't want to meet any more of her friends. That Kurt and Blaine were enough (and sometimes too much).

Perhaps that had also contributed to the demise of their relationship, Quinn truly doesn't know. It was love-of that Quinn is certain. But just because it was love doesn't mean it was easy or meant to be. Quinn shook her head from side to side, her thoughts vanishing as strips of her hair fell out of the bun she had placed it in earlier.

"Hello Rachel Barbra Berry, Broadway's newest sweetheart," Quinn greeted.

"Ah, so you've seen the article."

"I take it there isn't a person in all of Manhattan that hasn't seen the article. Your face is plastered all over the times."

"How embarrassing," Rachel says, her voice too amused too really sound embarrassed.

"You love it," Quinn points out.

"True."

Quinn rolls her eyes fondly. Leave it to Rachel to be so endearing and humble. "Okay, Ms. Humble, to what do I owe this pleasure?" She spared a glance at the clock and recognized that she still had at least four hours before she had to meet Rachel for dinner. It was unusual for Rachel to call so many hours ahead unless she was about to cancel.

"I need you to promise not to get mad."

Quinn stood still. "I can promise not to _stay _mad, but I'm not foolish enough to promise not to be mad when I don't even know what's going on."

"Fair enough," Rachel said with a sigh. "I made an error in judgment when I scheduled our dinner for tonight. It turns out that I already had plans for tonight with my old friend and it had completely slipped my mind."

"So you want to cancel?" Quinn asked in disappointment.

"No!" Rachel exclaimed, her voice raising an octave with her objection. "I just, I was thinking maybe we could all just have dinner together. She can be a little bit too hot to handle but she's going through a tough time right now, and well, I _can't_ cancel on her."

Quinn debated Rachel's proposal for a minute. She absolutely despised meeting new people. It was hard enough dealing with her own imperfections; she couldn't bear the thought of having to handle somebody else's as well. "Who is it?"

"You remember that friend I told you about years ago? The one I went to high school with?"

Quinn went through the mental list in her mind as she shuffled over to her bookcase. It looked okay but it didn't look _clean_. Quinn put the phone in-between her ear and shoulder and started scrubbing the corner of her bookcase.

"You went to high school with a lot of people, Rach." Quinn jokes lamely.

Rachel was quiet for a second and it was clear that she was hesitating. It was enough to be a sign to Quinn and she dropped her hands in recognition. Rachel couldn't be talking about _that_ girl, not the _hoarder_.

"_No_."

"Quinn, just listen to me. It's not going to be that ba—"

"No," Quinn interrupted. "I refuse."

Rachel sighed and Quinn assumed it was because she had won. It turned out that she was wrong.  
"You owe me," Rachel interjected. It wasn't much of a thing to say, but it was whispered and quiet and it was enough.

Quinn knew that 'you owe me' was really code for 'you _hurt_ me' and even though it was a mean card to pull, it was still Rachel's card to do so with. Quinn knew she was the real reason their relationship had failed all those years ago and even though it sucked, she truly did owe Rachel.

"Fine," Quinn relented, her desire to clean evaporating with her will.

"This is going to be absolutely splendid."

Quinn had the distinct idea that it wouldn't be.

* * *

"Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez." Rachel says as she gestures between the two girls. "Santana Lopez, this is Quinn Fabray. I'm so glad you two are finally meeting!" Rachel says with a squeal.

They're standing outside of Quinn's apartment complex in the cold New York weather and all Quinn really wants to do is go back inside and bubble wrap her couch again. It's moments like these where she can't figure out why she chose to live her life in one of the dirtiest cities in the world, but alas, she was here and she was going to _try._

She looks at the girl—Santana Lopez and watches as Santana shoots her a half smile as a greeting.

Quinn doesn't really know much about her except for the fact that Santana was crossing the line between being an actual hoarder and just being incredibly messy. Whenever Rachel had spoken about Santana, she would say that she had been friends with the girl since they were in Preschool. Rachel would comment offhandedly about how Santana was a hard person to understand but that she was just like everyone else.

Quinn highly doubted that.

Quinn decides right then and there that she hates her. Santana's sloppy and dressed down and there's a mustard stain on the lower corner of her Star Wars t-shirt—which, btw, who wears a t-shirt to dinner? How unsophisticated. Santana looks like a walking hippy and Quinn absolutely loathes it. Her hands itch to pull out her travel size Lysol disinfectant wipes and cover this Lopez character in them. Instead, Quinn pushes the urges down.

She had promised Rachel that she'd try and make steps towards getting better.

"Shall we go?" Rachel says with a grin, her body doing some weird sort-of half curtsy that only Rachel Berry could pull off.

Quinn nods in response and Santana half-shrugs. Yes, Quinn thinks, she definitely doesn't like this Santana girl.

Rachel claps her hands together in excitement. Rachel's phone starts ringing before she can say anything though. Rachel digs through her purse and grabs her phone, her eyebrows rising at the name that flashes across the screen. "I need to take this. You guys lead the way."

Quinn stepped around Rachel and started heading towards the sushi restaurant that Rachel was extremely fond of. The only reason Quinn could bear it was because the restaurant cooked everything in front of the customers, otherwise Quinn would have objected and asked to stay home. She knows the way and she's always been more of an independent traveler, so she stands ahead and ignores the two girls behind her.

"Wait up!" Quinn hears that Santana girl call. She wants to roll her eyes or punch Santana or object, but none of those things would be appropriate in this moment. So instead Quinn slows her pace down and waits until Santana appears to her left. Quinn catches Santana's smile out of the corner of her eye and Quinn can't tell if it's predatory or genuine. Either way, Santana taps Quinn on the shoulder to get her attention and then bows her head when she does.

"Thanks," Santana says. "I don't like being left alone."

Quinn turned away and rolled her eyes. _Hoarders_: bunches of needy, sentimental, crazies if you asked her.

Quinn didn't need the attachment to, well, _anything._ That's why she made the effort to regularly toss anything that seemed out of place. Well, that and the fact that she suffered from OCD. She couldn't understand anyone's need to hold onto something so dirty and gross over the period of time. Memories were meant to be inside of your mind, they weren't meant to be with objects.

Quinn pulled her sweater tighter around herself and steeled her gaze forward. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Quinn should have known.

Quinn should have known from the get-go that tonight was a bad idea; she should have known that things were going to head south pretty darn fast. Instead she had pushed herself for the sake of Rachel and now all Quinn could do was regret it.

The sushi restaurant was packed, for starters. When they had finally reached their table that was far in the back corner, the customers had flocked over just so they could get a picture with the infamous Rachel Berry. It wasn't bad because Quinn was used to Rachel getting this kind of attention, but it was still too much. To add insult to injury, their table had been prepared so fast that the servers hadn't had a minute to even wipe it down.

Quinn ignores the stares from the people surrounding the table as she pulls out her travel wipes. She can't resist the urge to wipe down the table like she was able to resist the urge to wipe down Santana. What? Rachel had said steps not _strides._

She thinks that Santana's shoots her a thumbs-up but whatever; Quinn ignores it and continues on. She had barely even shared three sentences with the girl. That didn't constitute a friendship or even an acquaintanceship.

She's pulling a wipe out when one of Rachel's fans pushes into her accidentally and Quinn drops the wipes on the floor.

Everything happens pretty fast after that.

One minute she's handling the situation extremely well. The next minute Quinn is hunched over in the women's bathroom, a wet paper towel over her forehead and Santana at her side. She's crying, Quinn realizes, she's crying with a complete stranger and it's the weirdest thing because she has absolutely no idea how she got from point A to point B.

It's weird because that's how life goes sometimes. One day you're going somewhere and you know what you're doing and who you want to be, and then the next day everything could change.

Santana wraps her arms around Quinn and it only serves to make her cry harder. Here's this dirty person comforting her as if it was the most natural thing in the world and all Quinn can think about is if Santana's showered or how the hell Quinn got from the table to here. She's horrified and embarrassed and pissed off that she's this crippled and that she's this messed up.

Mostly she's just confused. She doesn't understand how she got here. She doesn't understand why she's here.

Quinn thinks that this is what panic attacks feel like, real ones. She thinks that this is anxiety at its highest and at its finest because she doesn't feel anything other than alone right now.

Santana wraps her arms tighter around Quinn and brushes through Quinn's hair with her hands. Quinn wants to hate the girl, mostly because she doesn't she doesn't know her and also because she doesn't want to. She truly wants to despise Santana and call her crazy and think that she has a disease because it's easier when you don't know someone. Everything is easier when you don't try.

She wants to do those things but she can't because Santana puts her lips to Quinn's ear and says:

"It's okay to cry like you would have when you were five. It's okay to act like it too, because we were all five once."

Quinn wants to disagree but she can't, not now, because she doesn't think her mouth will let her. She doesn't know what just happened but she doesn't think she's capable of hating this girl anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**__ Hey Guys! So I apologize for the delay. I have actually been in the hospital for the past month. It was not fun, I must say, and unfortunately I didn't have time to do anything but get better. I'm not quite there yet but I wanted to try and finish up a few things while I'm home and starting to get my energy back. This might not be my best chapter but just take note that I am not 100% and I'm also on some lovely drugs. Reviews and opinions are appreciated and needed. Thank you for your patience. You are all lovely._

_**A/N 2:** Also, if you feel up to it, would you please comment on what fic you would most like to see me update next? It makes things a bit easier. Thank you!_

* * *

**We're Not Broken, Just Bent**

**(Part Two of Three)**

Quinn loved the weekends.

Not because they were the perfect time to unwind, but because they provided ample time to clean the fuck out of everything. She had a system that started with her waking up at 6AM and ended with her going to sleep at 9PM, her apartment spotless and practically untouched.

She liked schedules, she enjoyed cleaning, and she enjoyed the feeling that invaded her body afterwards; the feeling that she was accomplishing _something_. Quinn Fabray wouldn't sacrifice her cleaning time for any man.

Unless that man was a woman and that woman went by the name of Rachel Berry.

Rachel knew about Quinn's routines because she had spent years just trying to work around them, trying to change them, and then trying to contribute to them. The biggest thing was that Rachel had always tried to accommodate Quinn and Quinn could never bring herself to accommodate Rachel.

She wanted to try; she honestly wanted to make the effort. But it was hard. It's hard shifting a routine and placing somebody in there because all it left Quinn feeling was scattered and confused and empty instead of feeling loved.

She often feels guilty when she thinks about how hard Rachel tried and how little she did, it's what guilt's her into saying _yes_ instead of saying _I can't_.

Of course when Rachel decided to call her up that Sunday (two days after her breakdown in a dirty bathroom, two days after Rachel tried to make everything okay only for Quinn to truly realize that they weren't) and invite her out, she never mentioned anything about _this._

Rachel certainly left out the part that included a hoarder and her mess of an apartment (which, really, Quinn could only conclude that it represented Santana's mess of a life).

At her core Rachel was a girl who just wanted everyone to get along and love each other. However, Rachel never stopped to think that maybe the parties involved didn't want to love each other. Santana and Quinn were a lot alike in many ways but at their cores? They were far too many issues separating them.

This _mess_ wasn't the only issue that created rifts and set boundaries, it was just a physical representation of the things Santana could give and the things Quinn didn't want.

Quinn curled her hands and kept her fists at her sides. Santana Lopez wasn't exactly a dirty girl, there wasn't food and animals or feces scattered about her home. However, there were books on practically every surface of Santana's house. Just stacks upon stacks of books and movies and photos.

It wasn't so much the fact that Santana was messy; it was more the fact that she had useless amounts of items. Maybe it was the OCD rearing its ugly head, but Quinn had counted eleven fruit bowls on the way in. As well as thirteen frames holding the same photo of Audrey Hepburn, just in different sizes. It was despicable, Quinn thought with a huff, and altogether pretty sad.

She could barely believe that she gave up a day of cleaning to come to this mess of all things, but at her core she was also a tad bit excited. Santana's home provided ample opportunity for Quinn to test out some new cleaning routines, not to mention instill some good regimes upon Santana's probably wild lifestyle.

Santana bit her lips nervously and rubbed behind her neck. It was habit, Quinn decided; such things were always from habit. Quinn felt her fingers twitch in response, itching to hurry up and _fix_ whatever she could—whatever she deemed broken.

"Um," Santana started lamely. She was wearing another one of those God forsaken Star Wars t-shirts and board shorts. Her outfit was almost as annoying as her presence. "You didn't say you were bringing Rain Man with you, Rach."

Rachel rolled her eyes while Quinn scowled, affronted. "I am not Rain Man," Quinn bit out.

Santana nodded. "Yes, that's right, because Rain Man actually possessed some type of skill. And you don't."

"Rach," Quinn called out as she turned to Rachel. "If I have to put up with what she calls a sense of humor in this place that she pretends is a home, I'm going to need to be injected with heavy drugs."

Rachel's hands shot up in defense, her eyes worried. "Okay, _okay_, guys. Look, I brought you both here because the truth of the matter is that you need each other." Quinn scoffed and Rachel shot her a glare in return. "Look, Santana, you honestly need some sort of cleaning ethic and Quinn? Let's be real here, if you spend one more hour disinfecting your apartment it's going to smell like the inside of a Lysol bottle."

"Some consider that to be a good thing," Quinn grumbled.

"Honestly I thought you could both benefit from this not to mention the fact that you both _owe me_. That's right, I'm pulling out the favor card, so would you both just try and shut up for a second?"

Santana looked impressed at Rachel's little outburst while Quinn just looked mortified. There was nothing like being scolded by your ex-girlfriend in a hoarder's house. Her life was reaching all new heights these days.

Santana shrugged, a careless smirk crawling onto her face. "It is my house, so I'm game if Betty Crocker is."

"Fine!" Quinn exclaimed, her body no longer able to stand the sight of Santana's messy home anymore. She pointed a finger at Santana. "Just so you know, I take that as a compliment."

Santana snorted. "Yeah, _you_ would."

* * *

_**One week later**_

Quinn couldn't fathom how she had ended up in Santana's apartment again exactly one week after their first attempt. The thing of it is though that once she got past Santana's massive collection of Star Wars t-shirts and the fact that Santana thinks it's perfectly normal to have 457 bottle caps saved in a drawer—honestly, Quinn couldn't _not_ count them—Santana wasn't really all that bad. Yeah, she was messy and dirty and annoying and honestly a little entitled, but she was also a bitch and funny and when Quinn had unknowingly reached for a plate that had belonged to Santana's grandmother…well, she saw the look of horror that flashed thru Santana's eyes.

It was a look that reminded Quinn that crazy wasn't always something you're born with; sometimes it's something that develops over time. Sometimes it's a coping mechanism. Sometimes it's something you can't help but turn to.

Quinn's mom was crazy too once—nuts even. It's the kind of crazy that comes from unwanted marriages and bottles full of whiskey. It's the kind of crazy that Quinn couldn't ignore and Quinn just hit a certain point when growing up (when she started counting to twenty as a way to calm herself) where she couldn't help but wonder if she was going to turn up just like her.

And another point when Quinn decided that she just didn't care.

She turned her attention to Santana and sighed as she watched Santana take then dish sponge and use it on the floor, her kitchen floor. Everyone knew that was a big no-no. Well, everyone except Santana apparently.

Even though Quinn could concede that Santana wasn't horrible she still couldn't understand how she had been so easily duped into Act Two of this horrible affair. Rachel had asked her to meet at Santana's house without a clear answer as to why. Rachel had merely stated that it was an "emergency" and Quinn needed to come quickly.

It turns out that _emergency _was really just code for _bonding_, which wasn't even really bonding considering the fact that it was _forced_. Unfortunately for Quinn, she had come, and unfortunately for both Santana and Quinn, Rachel had not.

Rachel was the reason for this whole thing and even though she was the one that set this whole thing up, she also apparently lacked a watch because she was _late_ for this little get together, which meant that Santana and Quinn were going to have to do something to pass the time.

They settled on cleaning and Quinn was absolutely okay with that.

Quinn walked towards Santana and sighed. Santana didn't hear her because she kept scrubbing the floor and humming some tune Quinn didn't know. Again Quinn sighed, this time louder.

Santana stopped what she was doing and looked up. "Can I help you, Fabray?"

Quinn curled her fingers uselessly. "It's just…you're doing it wrong."

"How so?"

Quinn pressed a finger to her temple. "You just, you need to do it the way I do."

"Which is what way exactly?" Santana asked affronted.

"The _right _way," Quinn shot back.

Santana dropped her head in irritation. She shifted her body until she was kneeling, her gaze harsh and her My Little Pony shirt slightly askew. Santana was wearing glasses and sweatpants and even though Quinn wanted to call her sloppy, she could really only call her…effortless.

"Take a freaking chill pill," Santana started. "You're tense as fuck."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Trust me, if that were an option I would have done so years ago."

Santana laughed a genuine laugh. It was different but only because Quinn wasn't expecting it. Quinn opened her mouth to respond but Santana stood up quickly, her shoes leaving dirty footprints where Santana had just scrubbed. Quinn rubbed her head in irritation, her mind reeling with all the different ways she could get the marks out.

She was on option number thirteen (bleach and pine sol) when Santana waved her hand in front of Quinn's face. Quinn had checked out, which was actually pretty normal. Perhaps it was a sign that her OCD was debilitating but it was something that Quinn was so used to that she honestly wouldn't really know what to do without it.

Her OCD was crippling in the sense that she had adjusted her life to it and planned her days around it to the point that it _was _her life and her habits.

Santana stared at Quinn for a few moments until it was almost uncomfortable. She turned away and walked towards the cupboards. She pulled a stack of plates out and headed back towards Quinn, a rather large grin on her face.

It was the type of smile that could move mountains and cause chaos. It was a smile that made Quinn see why Rachel would stay friends with Santana. It was the type of smile that made you want to change who you were and what you were just so that you could see it constantly.

It was _weird_ because it was a smile that took Quinn's breath away.

Santana hands her a plate and it (thankfully) steers Quinn's attention away from her thoughts. Quinn grabbed the plate curiously, her eyes questioning.

Santana grins again and it only makes sense that Quinn's stomach flips in response. She doesn't like it, not one bit. She's quickly losing control over whatever is happening here and it's enough to make Quinn light headed and enough to throw her for a loop.

"What's this for?"

Santana licks her lips and raises her stupid eyebrows as if the answer is supposed to be obvious. Santana took a step back and laughed awkwardly as she pointed to the floor. "Throw it."

"What?!" Quinn exclaimed, her head shaking furiously from side to side and her white blazer crinkling with the motion. "No."

"Look, it's not going to kill you to lose a little bit of control."

Quinn quivered at the statement. "You don't know that for sure."

She says it because she means it. Rarely has Quinn Fabray done something without knowing the exact outcome. The thought alone gives her heart palpitations.

"No, I don't," Santana agreed. "But that's part of the fun."

"I strongly disagree."

Santana waved her hand dismissively. "Look, just do it, okay? I promise to leave you alone if you do and I'll even tell Rachel to stop tricking you into coming over. Don't act so surprised, I know a Rachel Berry scheme when I see one. Plus, I have at least seven other plate sets I can use."

Quinn licked her lips and thought about Santana's offer. In the end, Quinn's desires outweighed Santana's. She was far fonder of the idea of avoiding Rachel's weird bonding schemes and having her weekends to herself again.

"Why do you own so many sets of plates, anyway?" Quinn asks, her fingers rubbing circles over the plates on reflex.

Santana shrugs and gives Quinn a half smile, a pained smile. "Because some day I might need it. I don't want to be unprepared."

Santana's being honest and Quinn feels selfish because she knows she never could be honest in return. She just wants to get this over with and return to her little life with little changes and little doubt. It was selfish…of that Quinn was sure, but she's never pretended to be anything else. She wasn't really a friend type of girl. She didn't do situations that made her uncomfortable. She looked out for herself and that was it because looking out for herself was a hard enough job already. Not to mention the fact that relationships of any kind _always_ meant trouble. Relationships and friendships usually ended up with someone trying to change Quinn and she wasn't going to allow that.

Instead of throwing the plate down or questioning Santana's methods, Quinn just let the white plate slip from her hands. It came crashing down like reality often did, suddenly and with casualties.

A shiver ran its way up Quinn's spine and she found her gaze focused directly at Santana.

Santana smirked. "Holy shit, I had no idea you'd actually do it." Santana grabbed a plate and threw it down with more force and more effort than Quinn had just done. It says a lot about their personalities that this was exciting for Santana and weirdly suffocating for Quinn.

When Santana's plate shattered and the pieces spread across the floor, Quinn couldn't help but feel relief. It was strange to feel so calm in a moment like this but Quinn _did_. What's more, when Santana handed her another plate, Quinn took it without question and without thought and without hesitation.

For the first time in her life she did something without _thinking_. She lifted her arm up and threw the plate on the marble floor.

It was invigorating and Quinn just wanted to feel _more_ of it, so she stretched out her arm and gestured for Santana to come closer. Santana moved forward in response, her arm carelessly tossing a plate over her shoulder as she moved. Quinn watched as the plate hit the cupboard before it crashed onto the counter and for a brief second she wondered if Santana's neighbors would file complaints, if this sort of thing was even allowed.

Santana ends the thought quickly (so quickly that Quinn is surprised) because she grabs Quinn's hand and shoves another plate into her hand and before Quinn knows it…well, they're _dancing_. They're moving and plates are flying and everything is just white and fluid. Quinn feels like she's in a movie and Santana can't stop laughing and it's just so monumental its perfect form of subtlety.

Santana stops so that she can twirl Quinn and instead of objecting or protesting, Quinn welcomes the gesture. She lets Santana twirl her while singing Purple Rain—which doesn't even make sense because the plates are white—and for a second Quinn feels like this is okay, like everything is going to be okay.

She pulls away from Santana with her shoulders shaking from laughter. The smile on Santana's face is so big and so genuine and so…perfect that Quinn honestly can't look away.

It's the first time Quinn thinks that she sees Santana, like really sees her, and for some unknown reason Quinn wants to claim her-like Quinn's a kid in a candy store that has every right to be so possessive. She wants to grab Santana by the hips—by her stupid geeky t-shirt—and she wants to make it so that smile never leaves, so that Santana doesn't feel the inherit need to hold onto things that will never make her smile like that.

Santana's smile fades as Quinn's hands reach for her and Quinn is so close to whatever this is leading to that Quinn can practically _smell_ it.

The moment is over as quickly as it starts though because Rachel comes rushing in, all false platitudes and apologies and excuses, even though she's more than two hours late at this point. Quinn jumps back like she's been burned as Rachel pushes into the kitchen (like how she pushed them together).

Rachel looks back and forth between them curiously, her gaze shift from worried-frightened-curious-confused in a matter of minutes. Rachel points at the ground, clearly unaware of what she just interrupted (of what she could have just interrupted). "Um, you guys do realize that you're surrounded by broken dishware, right?"

It only makes sense for Santana and Quinn to erupt in laughter, so they do.

* * *

_**Three weeks later**_

"Should I be concerned?" Rachel asked through the phone, her voice doubtful.

Quinn twisted to the side to avoid another pedestrian, her mind focused on getting through the next two blocks without any sort of panic attack. "I don't know, Rachel. Should you be concerned?"

"It's just," Rachel treads carefully. "You've never willingly offered to visit Santana before. Let alone by yourself. It's just a little weird."

"It's weird that we're friends or that I actually want to spend time with her without you around?" Quinn asks making sure to cut straight to the point.

"Both."

Quinn shrugs to no one in particular because if she's being honest, she has no real idea as to why she's been so willing to build a bridge of friendship with Santana. Her mind flashes to the moment that was almost a _moment_ and she shakes her head to get rid of the images.

"Don't feel weird. She's bitchy, I'm bitchy. She lives in a mess and I'm the person most qualified to clean it. It feels like one of those win-win situations you like to reference a lot."

"Yes, but win-win for whom?" Rachel asks her voice low and tinged with concern.

Quinn knows that the concern that's reaching out in Rachel's voice isn't from the fact that Quinn and Santana are getting along, it's from the fact that they're getting along so well without Rachel.

Friendship is a tricky thing that Quinn will never truly understand. She's about as good as soothing someone in distress as she is at video games; pretty much she's just blatantly awful. Not to mention the fact that Quinn can't explain to Rachel that her friendship with Santana isn't quite that, at least she doesn't think it is. So, instead, Quinn settles on saying what she knows, which isn't anything if she really thinks about it.

"I don't really know yet."


End file.
